The Nameless Quest in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley.

“‘King, you are touched!’ ‘Fight on, Earl Lecherer!’
I cursed him to his face—the added spur
Sticks venom in my lunge—a sudden thrust!
No cry, no gasp; but he is in the dust,
Stark dead. The queen—I hate the name of her!
So grew the mustard-seed, one moment’s lust.” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “A spirit walking in a dream, I went To the high throne–they shook the firmament With foolish cheers. I knelt before the queen And wept in silence. Then, as it had been And angel’s voice and touch, her face she bent, Lifted and kissed me–oh! her lips were keen! Her voice was softer than a virgin’s eyes: ‘Go! my true knight: for thither, thither lies The only road for thee; thou hast a prayer Wafted each hour–my spirit will be there!’ Too late I knew what subtle Paradise Her dreams and prayers portend: too fresh, too fair! I turned more wretched than myself knew yet. I told my nameless pain I should forget Its shadow as it passed.”
  2. “‘You know I will not strike, Sir pure and brave! Fight me your best–or I shall find a whip!’ That stung me, even me. He wronged me, so: Therefore some shame and hate informed the blow; Some coward’s courage pointed me the steel; Some strength of Hell: we lunge, and leap, and wheel; Hard breath and laboured hands–the flashes grow Swifter and cruel–this court hath no appeal!”
  3. “THE king was silent. In the blazoned hall Shadows, more mute than at a funeral True mourners, waited, waited in the gloom; Waited to hear what child was in the womb Of his high thoughts. As dead men were we all; As dead men wait the trumpet in the tomb. The king was silent. Tense the high-strung air Must save itself by trembling–if it dare. Then a lone shudder ran across the space; Each man ashamed to see his fellow’s face, Each troubled and confused. He did not spare Our fear–he spake not yet a little space.”
  4. “God’s heart! the antics, as they toil and shove! One grabs a coin, one life, another love. All shriek, ‘The prize is mine!’ as men possessed. I was not fooled at anything thereof. Rather I hated them, and scorned for slaves; ‘Fools! all your treasure is at last the grave’s!'”
  5. “I lifted up my eyes. What soul stood there, Fronting my path? Tall, stately, delicate, A woman fairer than a pomegranate. A silver spear her hands of lotus bear, One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight. She pointed to the East with flashing eyes: ‘Thou canst not see her–but my Queen shall rise.’ Bowed head and beating heart, with feet unsure I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure. I could have loved her. No: she was too wise. Her presence was to gracious to endure. ‘She did not bid me go and chain me to her,’ I cried, comparing.”